


Of Ghosts and Machines

by DatSonyat



Series: Those Who Remain [2]
Category: Overlord - Maruyama Kugane & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad Humor, Banter, Conversations, Emotionless Lovecraftian Abomination meets Boisterous Living Armour Flame Spirit, Gen, Humorous Ending, In Media Res, who and what doesn't ulbert cuck to be very honest with you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatSonyat/pseuds/DatSonyat
Summary: “What you speak is treason against the Supreme Beings,” he intoned, devoid of both malice and devotion. His head tilted slightly, eyes widening a fraction.Curiosity.-Acheron and Hades converse before battle. Woe unto any foolish enough to threaten their creators.But only if Ulbert ceases mass AOE spells for at least one CD timer.[Originally written and published in late 2018.]
Series: Those Who Remain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963231
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Of Ghosts and Machines

“Widespread defiance of this level? What futility,” Acheron stated with a hint of amusement, his deep, metallic voice rumbling from within the confines of his pointed, blood red helm. His polished, meticulously crafted armour—impossibly heavy, such that only the strongest and highest calibre of warriors could dare to don—glowed the same shade, despite the overwhelming dark clouds spitting arcane lightning and brimming with fire, enveloping all the sun’s rays would’ve touched.

He inclined his head, looking upwards at the regally-dressed, elegant gentleman standing tall on a higher piece of cooling obsidian. “Brutally honest question, if you will allow it?” he asked, sincere and friendly to a fault.

With his spiked helm, Acheron appeared the greatest of monarchs. Crimson flames poured and rippled out of his armour’s every crevice with each word he spoke, eyeholes perpetually alight with hellfire that signified both his consciousness and existence.

Were his companion anyone else, they might’ve thought his words alone caused the ground to quake, but it was not so. Acheron’s proud soldiers marched onward, ignorant to their superiors’ almost casual conversation—the calm before the storm.

Hades’ never-blinking eyes—endless spirals of red and black that drove lesser beings to madness and desolation—shifted from the dutifully marching armies to his fellow Guardian, the motion sharp. The corners of his mouth downturned near imperceptibly, a singular minute twitch threatening to peel his ivory lips back to reveal the countless nightmarish fangs his beguilingly handsome face hid.

Cautious, perhaps on the verge of vague offense, though intrigued nonetheless, Hades flickered a hair's breadth closer. With a static face and an unmoving mouth he replied, “I will allow it. Step lightly, for you tread on thin ice.”

And the ground _did_ tremble like it knew the truest fear, along with the air itself— _reality itself_ —threatening to tear and collapse into an unfathomable void at the soft, monotonous voice that violated it, infinite and resonating from all directions. Unmistakably male, inherently terrifying and splendid, it could not be called telepathy, but a force, beyond nature, beyond life. 

It simply _was_.

Cosmic horror and indescribable beauty, so utterly paradoxical was the malevolent and benevolent nature of Hades.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, my friend,” Acheron groaned, black smoke briefly gushing from his faceplate at the completely serious yet awful… _pun_ , if it could be called that. Saying such a thing was close to cruelty, not to Acheron, not… directly.

Hades raised a noncommittal, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, expression unchanging from its passive disdain and disinterest in the goings-on beneath them. “I fail to see the falsity of my words." He gave the barest of shrugs, unclasping his pitch-black, razor-clawed hands from behind his back to simultaneously brush nonexistent debris from his long, silken overcoat and smooth down his bone-white, neatly kept hair, brushed back to perfection.

“Really? Nothing out of place, as always.” The flames serving as Acheron’s eyes fluttered in an eyeroll. “If you don’t want to answer me, I won’t force you.”

 _I can’t force you_ went unsaid, didn’t need to be spoken aloud between them. 

Hades exhaled the barest hint of a scoff, and the breath that left him withered what life had survived the very magic-based, very _needless_ volcanic eruption. “I am still called ‘Pride’ for a reason,” was all he said, straightening his tie. He who held dominion over life and death, lovingly created and despairingly shackled by his supreme creators and freed in this new world much to their joy, and granted the mantle of Eighth Supreme Being should the worst come to pass.   
_  
__Your question?_ the world would’ve whispered if it had sentience enough, would’ve bowed to the graceful yet horrific demon masquerading as a nobleman.

The world shattered for Acheron, and he was more than content with that.

“Does _t_ _his_ not bore you?” he finally spat in incredulity, arms spreading to emphasize the obliterated plains sprawled out before them. “Yes, there is honour in it, there is _glory_ in it!” Acheron’s tone became reverent for a moment and was gone in another, replaced by a disbelieving growl and glare, more plumes of acrid smoke venting from his eyeholes. “But _we_ , and by extension all who are loyal and here right now, are _wasted_. Tell me, friend of mine, do you feel _any_ of this?” The knight sighed, flames temporarily extinguishing in an exaggerated show of frustration and drama.

Hades eyed him, unreadable and stoic, his default even to those closest to him. His paleness drew in all light while his shadows swallowed it like a black hole as he contemplated Acheron’s question.

“What you speak is treason against the Supreme Beings,” he intoned, devoid of both malice and devotion. His head tilted slightly, eyes widening a fraction.

Curiosity.

Acheron held the tiniest beginnings of a smile. “Most certainly, but that is not your answer.” Smugness radiated from him, flames licking outwards in response to Hades’ equally difficult to read reaction to any and all below their stations.

The ground began to shudder in response, cracking and splintering until small molten rivers ran from it and joined everything else in its exquisite agony. To mistake it for rage was entirely wrong—Hades _laughed_ , the insidious, lovely sound gentle as a murmur, as gentle as the shivering mountain could handle.

His eyes crinkled in a smile, mouth stretching wider than any humanoid’s ever could, the barest hint of glistening fangs visible when the violet-black lightning above them burned so hot it flared white. Even with his mouth open, no sound escaped, only the utmost pleasure, bordering on wild, written on Hades’ face was proof of his approval. He ran a hand down half of his face, attempting to wipe the blatant delighted sadism from it.

“Thank you, Acheron,” he said, unmoving, though all things tangible did, “for forever surpassing my expectations regarding those of us created with the express purpose of… 'defying,' yes, I am comfortable using that word in this context”—his demonic grin settled into a barely passable devious smirk—“defying the will of our creators, of correcting their mistakes. We are, indeed, being ‘wasted here,’ if you do not view ridding the world of this incompetence as a reward.”

Acheron laughed deeply in turn, delighted, fire bursting from every exposed part of his armour in glee. “Ah, I thought so! And thank you, I am eternally grateful to be of service—to all under our glorious flag. Personally, selfishly” he paused for dramatic effect, “I _really_ want to see if I can outmaneuver you. That said, I’ll further embrace that view of yours and consider this the highest reward granted by my beloved master.”

He plastered a cheeky grin across his face and called forth his axe, twirling the weapon as absurdly sized as he was in his hand with no issue. Tapping two fingers to the side of his helm, he spoke with militaristic authority, “Advance guard, move into position. Engage on my command.”

At his friend’s charismatic orders, all traces of good-natured humour left Hades and he appeared composed, anything he’d been moments prior nothing more than a strange mirage, a minor blip in reality to anyone who wasn’t Acheron.

“It would please me to finish this line of conversation at a later date. It has merit, though the likelihood of you outmaneuvering me is,” Hades considered his phrasing, tucking pale strands back behind his ears, “low enough I dare not dedicate a sizable portion of my main consciousness to calculate probable statistics,” he finished, undertone just wry enough to indicate his jest. Perhaps his "humour subroutines" would evolve given time. 

Acheron snorted and cast Hades a knowing glance, but said no more. Time enough there was for their back-and-forth to continue at a more appropriate hour.

“Shall we begin in earnest, then?”

Shadowy wings formed and unfurled from Hades’ back. “Death Incarnate, serving as support class, ready.” Shadows rose from the earth, their movements languid, caressing the air as if embracing invisible lovers, before beginning their cancerous, omnidirectional spread.

Acheron laughed again, dark and vicious, pillars of flame roaring into being alongside it. Bringing his fiery axe upwards to meet his other fist, he declared, “Lord of the Infernal Chasm, ready! If damage cannot be mitigated, converge on me—wait, is that—“

What could only be described as the apocalypse descended onto the battlefield in a maelstrom of chaos, fire, explosions, and—

“Why must the Supreme One [Grand Catastrophe] everything…?” Acheron bemoaned, slumping over, however slight.

Hades chuckled, low enough to vibrate mere pebbles. “Incorrect. That is [Shattered Heaven], which he has been channeling since we began conversing.” Loving admiration dyed the usual, monotone indifference of his demeanour.

“You _said_ this was supposed to be _ours_.” A silly, useless argument, although it entertained Acheron all the same.

“Irony, or: he heard us, now stop pouting. It does not become you.”

Black smoke poured out of Acheron, a clear sign of defeat. Yes, they had been created to challenge the will of the Supreme Beings and grant them clarity where they may have blind spots, but… Lord Ulbert was _the_ _Supreme One_ for painfully obvious reasons.

Still, at this rate, they’d be jobless…

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, I straight up started writing an Ulbert-Hades piece in the middle of reading through/editing this. When you try to beef a piece up and end up with something to bridge the oneshot gap. 😂 I am alive for this random BS. Hades is also an acronym and his name, but an acronym for what? 👀👀👀
> 
> Hades is an extremely old OC who's been around a few fandoms and tends to keep his name and god of death status. He's a very interesting character to me in this particular AU and central to it. He exists in Ashes-verse, we've just yet to meet him because... well, yeah, computer and health died back in July 2019-ish. He will exist in the rewrite. Acheron could end up another NPC of the Eighth Floor Hierarchy, but has so far worked best characterization-wise in TWR-verse.


End file.
